


Cold Confessions

by xxDustNight88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 28 Day Ship It Challenge, Common Cold, Love Confessions, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxDustNight88/pseuds/xxDustNight88
Summary: Sherlock catches a cold and John nurses him back together… But it also prompts the doctor to reveal a secret he's kept to himself for quite some time.





	Cold Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This is two days late but I'm still trying to keep up with the 28 Day Ship It Writing Challenge hosted by Melting Pot on Facebook. I adore Johnlock and love writing these little drabbles and one-shots! I hope you enjoy this! It was loosely inspired by the fact that nearly everyone at the school I work for is sick. This plot has probably been done before, but it is what it is… Alpha love to SquarePeg72. Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, quotes, and information belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC, and anyone else that may own any part of it. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.
> 
> Prompt: 28 Day Ship It Writing Challenge: Day #7 The Ship that's popular in the fandom

It started out innocently enough, a single sneeze as they returned to the flat one rainy evening. Sherlock and John had spent the majority of the day traipsing through London looking for a suspect in a string of burglaries. It didn't help that it had rained on and off all day until it turned into a steady pour sometime after dark. John felt fine, but he suspected Sherlock may have caught a bit of a cold, especially since he was running on maybe twelve hours of sleep over a three day period.

That's why, at the first sneeze, John shoved Sherlock in the direction of the bathroom and forced him to take a hot bath while he prepared some tea. When Sherlock emerged, pink-skinned and smelling fresh, thirty minutes later, he certainly looked worse for wear. John merely shook his head and encouraged him to lay down on the sofa. When Sherlock did this without argument, John knew something was wrong.

Still, he chattered on about the case, trying to make Sherlock feel better as they sipped their tea. Luckily, they'd solved the case so there would be no need to venture outside until absolutely necessary. As John collected their empty cups and set them on the coffee table so he could throw a blanket over Sherlock's shivering form, he suspected that they would be stuck inside for a few days, at the very least. The flu that was currently going around was not to be taken lightly.

At long last, John watched as Sherlock eased into a restful sleep. Sighing in relief, he extracted himself from underneath Sherlock's long legs and made his way upstairs to his bedroom. He would prefer that Sherlock sleep in a bed, but he knew it was best not to wake him once he fell asleep. As he crawled into his own bed, John hoped that his friend would sleep through the night and feel better in the morning.

. . . .

Sometime later, John was roused from his own sleep by a coughing fit from downstairs. He woke slowly, and then all at once as the coughing continued. Sherlock. The cold must have intensified while Sherlock slept, festering inside his body until it woke the poor detective. Sighing, John threw back his covers and ran a hand over his face to wake himself. Standing, his feet hit the cold floor and stumbled for the door. Down the stairs he went, stumbling into the living room without turning on the lights. When he reached the bottom, he flipped on the hall light.

"John?" Sherlock questioned, squinting in the dim light from the hall. "Is that you?"

"It's me," John replied quietly as he came to sit on the edge of the sofa. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"

"I am dying," Sherlock replied just before succumbing to another coughing fit.

"You're not dying," John said simply, a smirk playing his lips. He reached out and gingerly smoothed back the curls from Sherlock's forehead. They were damp, a sure sign his body was trying to fight off a fever. Sure enough, as he rested his hand against Sherlock's skin, he felt a flame. "You have a fever."

"I do not have time to be sick, John," Sherlock groaned, swatting John's hand away. "There are cases to be solved."

"Not right now," John said. "Besides, it's the middle of the night. You're going to take some medicine, drink some water, and then try and get a few more hours of rest."

Before Sherlock could protest any further, he was taken by yet another coughing fit. Frowning with worry, John stood and went in search of his doctor's bag. He found some medicine tablets inside and then retreated to the kitchen. Filling a glass with water from the tap, John tried to remember if he'd ever seen Sherlock sick before. Maybe he'd had the sniffles from time to time, but never had he been sick like this.

Returning to Sherlock's side, he handed over the tablets and the water. "Take these and drink the water. Your body is trying to break the fever and you'll be dehydrated soon." John watched as Sherlock did as he was told before handing him back the glass. John set it aside and then helped to get him comfortable once more. "Is that better?"

"For now," Sherlock mumbled. "Although, I still feel like death."

"You'll be better in a few days," John reassured him. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Sherlock leaned into the embrace, causing John to smile. "You just have to rest and stay hydrated."

"I'm dying," Sherlock grumbled, staring at John with a pout on his bowtie lips.

If he wasn't sick, John would have leaned over and kissed him. Well, perhaps not since Sherlock had no idea he was in love with him… That would be a conversation for another day, one when Sherlock was in his right state of mind and John wasn't too cowardly to admit how he truly felt about the detective.

"Yes, well, you're going to feel worse before you feel better. Now try and get some sleep." John stood and prepared to go back to bed. There was no reason for him to linger. The medicine he gave Sherlock would ease him to sleep shortly. He had just turned away when Sherlock spoke again, causing him to pause in the doorway.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said as he curled onto his side. He pulled the blanket up under his chin and squeezed his eyes closed. "I am lucky to have you. Not just anyone would care for me in this state."

"You're welcome, Sherlock. I'd do anything for you…"

. . . .

A few days later, Sherlock was nearly back to his old self. He still had a slight cough and the occasional sniffle. Currently, he was curled up on the couch with his laptop propped against the armrest as he checked his emails in search of a new case. Lestrade was under strict orders from John not to come calling until John gave the all clear. That didn't stop the detective from trying to solve "boring" cases from the comfort of the sofa instead.

John stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him with slight disapproval. Although, he  _was_ secretly pleased that Sherlock was feeling well enough to disobey his wishes again. Seeing Sherlock so sick certainly wasn't entertaining in the least. He much preferred the overactive, quick-witted detective than the sloth-like version he'd helped nurse back to health these past few days.

Deciding Sherlock was well enough for a revelation, John cleared his throat so that he knew he was listening. "Sherlock?" he questioned, not quite sure now was the appropriate time to reveal his feelings. Then again, when  _was_ there a good time for such declarations?

"Hmm?" Sherlock didn't look up from his laptop, continuing to click away at the keys.

Sighing, John ran a hand through his hair and just went for it. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I was worried about you and… I- I just want you to know that I'll always take care of you. I love you."

There. He'd said it and there was no going back. He was surprised when Sherlock pointedly shut the lid of the laptop and set it aside. Watching as the dark-haired man lifted his gaze, John felt a shiver run down his spine as their eyes met across the room. Was he going to tell him that he shouldn't feel such a way? Was he going to ask him to leave? Surely, that would not be the case. Once again, John was surprised.

"Of course you do, John. I've known for ages," Sherlock said as he threw back his blanket and made his way to stand in front of the much short man. "And I love you too."

And then, despite still being ill, Sherlock kissed John, showing him exactly how much he appreciated his care and affection. And if he ended up sick a couple days from now, John decided it would be worth it. He would take on the flu a hundred times over if it meant Sherlock would love him forever.


End file.
